Freya’s Tryst

Do you dare to dance with a maiden of death?

The Allfather would have had Freya’s head if he had realized that she had invited one of her valkyries — a maiden named Rune — to her bedchamber.

“Don’t be shy,” Freya said, her voice soft as she beckoned Rune close. “I don’t bite, no matter what stories you may have heard.”

Rune shook her head, clearly mesmerized by the goddess. “I have so much respect for you, my lady. You have no idea how much I’ve looked up to you. To be in your chamber with you here like this — it’s such an honor.”

Freya lay back and smiled like a cat with a toy ready to bat within its paws. “Oh, you flatter me. But flattery is such an empty game, Rune. Surely you realize that.”

“Games? Oh, my lady, I don’t play games.”

“Do you not?” Freya’s eyebrows lifted. “Come closer, girl, and we’ll see what tricks you have up your sleeve.”

The younger valkyrie acquiesced and sidled up close to the goddess. She leaned in close until her lips were at Freya’s neck. She inhaled and pressed a soft kiss to the skin of her nape. “Oh, my lady Freya, you have no idea how much I’ve dreamt of this.”

But then Freya lifted her hand to Rune’s hair and pulled the strands until the valkyrie gasped out in pain. “Now, now…